


Keep Moving Forward (Septiplier)

by collaborational



Series: Of Flying and Fighting [4]
Category: Septiplier - Fandom, Youtube RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Laboratory, Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Angst, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-04
Updated: 2016-01-22
Packaged: 2018-05-11 20:18:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 13,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5640553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/collaborational/pseuds/collaborational
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack's completely lost. He and Mark, along with several hundred people, have been captured by the same insane scientists that the dynamic duo only escaped from a week ago. What the hell are they planning? Can they save everyone? Can they save themselves?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One More Time, With Feeling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack wakes up somewhere else.

Jack groaned. Everything seemed to be throbbing and aching. He felt like he weighed a thousand pounds. 

He shifted. The bare skin on his arms had stuck to the metal floor below him, and Jack winced as they peeled away. 

He tried to sit up, found himself too tired to try, and let himself collapse back to the ground. There was a faint clang as his body slammed back into the steel plating. 

“Fock,” Jack mumbled. The swear seemed to reverberate in the air, bounced around by the walls of his metal prison. He shut his eyes as the echoes shuddered around him. 

A loud scrape caught his attention. With difficulty, he managed to lift his head. A slot in the wall had been opened. Dark eyes stared down at him. 

“Oh. It's you.” 

The person sneered at him, spitting the last word out like it was poisonous. 

“Who th’ hell…” 

“I still have burns from that stunt that you and Fischbach pulled. I don't forgive easily, McLoff-linn.” 

Jack scowled. “Lock,” he spat. “McLoughlin.” What the hell was this guy babbling about? 

“It doesn't matter to me.” The eyes narrowed. “I won't make the same mistake twice. Now get up.” 

Despite the pounding in his head, Jack managed to force himself to his feet. Maybe when the door was opened, he could rush the guy and make a break for it. Sure, he was a bit scrawny, but that didn't matter. Speed was key! 

There was a noise that grated on Jack's ears. He gritted his teeth. Light flooded the small room. He pushed forward with everything he had. 

Something slammed into his stomach. There was a buzz. Then nothing but PAIN. His nerves were on fire. A scream ripped itself free of his throat. 

The man removed the electric rod from Jack's midsection and watched him crumple. “You are an idiot,” he muttered. 

With tears bubbling in his eyes, the Irishman couldn't help but agree. 

\--- 

The place he was dragged into could only be called a laboratory by the loosest of definitions. Machines hooked up to glass capsules were everywhere. Said capsules were occupied by human beings, hooked up to the circuitry in front of them. Some people were calm, perhaps willing volunteers. Others were not. Mechanical clicks and whirrs joined the cacaphony of enraged yelling, panicked screaming, and forlorn sobbing. 

Jack paled. It was pandemonium. 

He recognized a form in a tube close to him. It was the last person that he and Mark had hitchhiked with. What was his name? Dan. Dan was slumped over in his glass prison. He had a nasty knot on his forehead, and his nose was taped up. 

“Dan!” he called. The dark-haired man looked up. His eyes were glassy, but they seemed to clear a bit upon spotting Jack. 

“H-hey, it's you… God, I'm sorry about all this. I'm not sure what happened…” 

“It ain't yer fault. If anythin’, Mark and I dragged yeh intah this.” He shook his head. “Are yeh okay?” 

“I'm fine, but…” Dan looked around. “I don't know if Phil is okay,” he whispered. 

“I'll look for him,” Jack blurted. He wasn't sure what made him say it. He just wanted to lift the spirits of SOMEONE in here. It was so fucking dismal. The Irishman couldn't stand it. 

“Thank you.” He looked relieved, and he gave Jack a tired smile. 

Before he got the chance to return it, he was shoved forward. “Move already,” the man behind him snapped. “Stop fraternizing.” 

Looking around, a thought occurred to Jack. Where was Mark? His imagination crafted a horrible scenario that he couldn't even begin to comprehend. The cacaphony around him made it even worse. Mark, bloody and bruised, wings broken, writhing in agony, shrieking in pain- 

“Shit! Keep that fucking needle away from me!” 

The nightmarish daydream was shattered with a particularly angry voice. Jack practically snapped his neck turning to look. 

A man was struggling against the masked individual attempting to hook him up inside his test tube. The Irishman recognized the long hair and the blond streak. “Arin?” 

“Wh-?” In his lapse of concentration, the mystery individual managed to jab a reader into his arm. “OW! FUCK!” 

He scowled as the person retreated from the tube and pushed the glass door shut. There was a hiss as it sealed. Arin turned to Jack. 

“They got you, too?” he mumbled. “Man, after all the shit we went through trying to cover for you and Mark, you assholes still go ahead and get yourselves caught.” 

“Cover fer…?” He was bewildered. “Wot?” 

“Yeah! Not five hours out of town, those guys managed to catch us again! Danny and I did our best, but obviously it wasn't enough.” He grimaced. “And now we're stuck in tubes like the rest of these poor saps. Man, this place SUCKS!” Arin punctuated this statement by pounding the side of his fist on the glass. It held. 

Jack sighed. “We… We hafta do somethin’.” 

“What can we do, man?” The taller man let out a low breath. He looked like he might cry. “Take care of yourself, okay? And if you see Danny, tell him I said… Tell him I said I'm sorry.” 

Once again, Jack was shoved forward. He lurched and stumbled, but kept his balance. “Would yeh quit that?!” 

“We don't have time for chitchat.” 

“Then why d’yeh keep lettin’ me stop ta talk-” 

He was silenced with a sharp jab to the ribs. Jack let out a wheeze. 

“F-fock you!” 

“Yeah, yeah.” 

\--- 

The abysmal conditions did nothing to lift Jack's spirits. He was shoved into a container, jabbed with needles, and left there. The computer hooked up to the capsule was probably getting readings off him or something. He tugged at a reader experimentally. Jack was met with a painful ZOT. He winced as the electricity forced his hand away. 

He was terrified, he wasn't going to lie. His head was pounding, his heart was racing, his hands were shaking, his chest was heaving. 

Jack was going to die in here, wasn't he? 

... 

No. If he died, Mark would be devastated. 

The very thought of him calmed Jack. They were an unstoppable team, undefeated as long as they were together. He just needed to hang on for Mark. 

He just needed to hang on. 

Jack took a deep breath. Do it for Mark. 

The needles in him shuddered, and he winced. To quote Arin, this place sucked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HERE WE GO AGAIN MOTHERFUCKERS PREPARE FOR THE FEELS TRAIN
> 
> Also, finally some other characters are brought into the spotlight! You'll get to know them, old and new, as we progress in this fic! Have fun. It focuses more on Jack than on Mark this time around, simply so I can show you the parts of this insane lab that you haven't seen before. Also, SIDE QUESTS. DO THEM ALL, JACKABOY. MAKE FRIENDS. THEY WILL HELP YOU.


	2. Eet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack has a long night.

As he was yanked along through the lab, sporting several new bandages, Jack saw states of despair he didn't even realize existed, ranging across a wide variety of people. An old, wrinkled man in his mid seventies was hollering as loudly as he could, voice hoarse with rage, throwing himself against the glass over and over. A dark-skinned person in their late twenties was on their knees, their face twisted with terror, eyes spilling over with tears, nails torn and bloodied from clawing at their cage. A girl with faded pink hair, no older than sixteen, was standing stock still, eyes looking much farther than the lab reached. 

Jack's heart practically tore itself in two. These were innocent people. Nothing more than bystanders who had been in the wrong place at the wrong time. It was beyond cruelty. 

A slim brunet suddenly snapped to attention as Jack passed, and began pounding on the glass. “Hey! You!” he called desperately. 

The Irishman turned in surprise. He recognized the guy. It was one of the many people that he and Mark had hitchhiked with. “Phil?” 

The man in the tube nodded rapidly. “Are you okay? I don't remember much happening, and Dan-” 

“Dan!” Jack blurted, remembering his promise. “He's okay, he's alive! He said to look fer yeh!” 

Phil froze for a moment. “He's alive?” Then a fantastic, crazy smile spread across his face. “He's alive!” he repeated. “Oh, God, I thought with the crash and all-” 

Jack winced as his guard shoved him forward. “I can try ta give ‘im a message fer yeh!” 

He was almost crying with relief now. “Yes, oh, please do. Tell him… Tell him it's going to be okay. And that it's not his fault.” 

The Irishman nodded. “Will do.” 

Then another shove pushed him forward. 

\--- 

He hadn't spotted Danny on his way out. Arin and Dan were nowhere to be found, either. Jack bet that he was probably going to get Dan and Danny confused very quickly. He wasn't very good with that sort of thing. 

But now he was being led back down a plain white hall lined with thick steel doors. He noted the heavy locks and the sturdy hinges. Nothing was breaking out of those anytime soon. 

After an eternity of walking - Jack got bored with it fast - they finally halted in front of one of the cells. One of the two guards with him picked a key off the ring on their belt and twisted it in the lock. The metal door slid open with a shrill squeak, and the Irishman was shoved inside. 

He landed facedown against the cold steel that the room was plated with. By the time he'd recovered enough to sit up, the door had slammed closed, leaving him once again in near-darkness. 

Jack looked around the room. It was bare. The only interesting thing to look at was the goopy brown stuff on a styrofoam tray they'd left by the door for him. Evidently, it was his meal. 

He scooted closer and took a sniff. Then he gagged as a horrid scent assaulted his nostrils. He could feel his nostrils burning as tears sprang to his eyes. It smelled like mold and rancid ham. He'd much rather be eating the stale chips that Arin and Danny had given him. They probably held more nutritional value than whatever the hell all this was. Was it even meant to be eaten? Judging from the plastic spoon stuck in it, yes. Jack grimaced. What he wouldn't give for some cake! 

But he was quickly going to starve if he didn't eat it. The Irishman hesitantly took a scoop and spooned it into his mouth. 

It was disgusting. His facial muscles instantly scrunched up. He almost spat it back out. It tasted worse than those jelly beans Mark had given him once. What the hell was up with those, anyways? 

Jack looked back on that fondly. Mark knew he loved sugar and a challenge, so he'd given him the box and told him there was a game to it. They each had to flick the spinner and find the jelly bean that the pointer landed on, and it would either be a nice tasting one or a nasty one. He remembered the taste of “grass” and “vomit” all too well, but found it hilarious when Mark bit into one that turned out to be “pencil shavings.” 

He laughed aloud at the memory and nearly choked on his food. The burning sensation on his tongue brought him back to the present. He struggled to swallow the revolting paste. It was even worse than it smelled. Jack fought the urge to rip his shirt off and use it to clean his mouth out. 

He looked down at himself. After those diagnostic exams had been run on him, they'd stolen his clothes and given him a blue uniform, similar to the one Mark had been wearing when they'd gotten out of here the first time. 

Jack closed his eyes. The first time. He'd been strapped to a table, fluttering in and out of consciousness for three days. When someone had grabbed him and dragged him out into that control room, he'd barely been able to register that he was even upright. 

As soon as he'd seen Mark, though, the fog had lifted entirely. The sight of the man broken and hurt and begging for Jack's life had completely snapped him out of it. He knew that he needed to help. And… He did. He and Mark had kicked ass and taken names and busted their way out, and they'd stayed out for an entire week. It didn't sound too impressive, but judging from the security and efficiency of this place, it probably was. 

...that reminded him. Where was Mark now, anyways? That crazy woman had mentioned something about still needing him due to an anomaly. He was likely being kept somewhere separate from the other subjects. 

Jack twitched when he realized his thoughts. These people… They were subjects for this scientist's twisted experiments. 

Mark had gotten wings. He had a feeling that he, along with the rest of these people, weren't going to be so lucky. 

\--- 

Sleep wasn't easy on a cold metal floor. Of course, the ambience of the laboratory didn't help. He could hear the distressed noises of the people in the cells around him, muffled by the walls and changed by the metal. The result was dissonant, haunting, inhuman. Warped cries and garbled words seemed to wrap around Jack like a blanket, making his pulse race and his breath shorten. 

Soon, barked commands and angry pounding joined the cacophony. The noise didn't last much longer after that. Slowly, one by one, people fell silent. The Irishman guessed that the guards were taking action to shut them up. 

He tried to find a comfortable position on the ground. The steel below him was rigid and freezing cold. Would it be too much to ask for a blanket? Jesus. 

At last, fatigue overtook him, and Jack fell into a fitful slumber. He kept jerking awake every so often. He had no way to measure how much time had passed between when his eyes closed and when they opened. It didn't matter. He never felt rested. He recalled only snatches of dreams - bursts of sound, swirls of color - and stared at the dark ceiling high above him before his eyelids crashed down again, too heavy to stay open. 

Finally, a loud scraping noise gave Jack one final jolt. He sat bolt upright. He was sweating, and his breath was labored. Had he been having a nightmare? He tried to focus, but the more he tried to clutch at the details, the faster they slipped away. It was like trying to hold mist. 

"Heh. You could make a joke out of that, with mist and missed," he mumbled aloud. He was too tired to think of anything too clever, though. Still, it was rather funny. He giggled. 

“What are you chuckling at?” a gruff voice asked him. A guard grabbed his forearm and yanked him to his feet. 

“Y-yeh had ta be there.” Jack snickered even harder. In his sleep-deprived delirium, the half formed pun was suddenly hilarious. 

“Well, wipe that smile off your face before I smack it off.” 

The Irishman struggled to keep his expression neutral. He still remembered the sting of that electric baton, and he wanted another dose of that like he wanted another one of what the place dared to call meals. 

“You have any idea where we’re going?” 

An icy knot began to form in the pit of his stomach. “N-no.” 

It was the guard’s turn to laugh. The sharp, barking noise sent a chill up Jack's spine. There was no warmth, no heart to it. He never thought he could call a laugh ugly, but this one was hideous. It was cruel. 

Laughter was meant to be a thing of beauty, fueling happiness and joy. This… this fed off of misery. It was pure, unadulterated schadenfreude. 

The guard leaned forward, until their masked face was inches from Jack’s own. 

“We’re going to find out what the professor wants to turn you into.” They let out another bout of sadistic cackling that pierced Jack to his very soul. He was terrified. 

_Find out what the professor wants to turn you into._

_What the professor wants to turn you into._

_Wants to turn you into._

What the hell did they have planned for him?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M NOT LATE I DID THE THING HERE YOU GO YOU GUYS
> 
> Poor Jackaboy. What a fine mess he's gotten dragged into! Hope he can get out of here alive...


	3. The Calculation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Professor Hund makes a breakthrough.

Professor Hund stared helplessly at the graphics on the screens. She and Shiwu had run through every possible variable. It was just no good. The avian strain of the _chatalaíoch_ remained unchanged and thus unstable. 

She referred back to her notes on the test subject. Hund reread what she’d already scanned a thousand times, looking for some defining detail that she knew wasn’t there. Mark Fischbach was a more-or-less ordinary person. No anomalies had been detected during her and Shiwu’s diagnostic exam, save a deficiency of certain chemicals that wouldn’t have affected the _chatalaíoch_ at all. She’d made sure of that. She’d even tested other people she’d found with the same deficiency when the computer simulation wasn’t enough for her. No change. They could barely carry any weight more than what their own bodies weighed. 

Perhaps she could go over Shiwu’s shorthand again. He’d been the one jotting down details during her interview with Kjellberg. 

Her assistant’s handwriting was neat and legible, with sensible detail and acronyms that she could easily identify. There was no way he’d have missed something during the interview. Shiwu was too sharp and quick to let anything slide. 

“Kept at room temperature,” she muttered. “No previous bodily contact. Contained in a vat of cast-iron. No reported gas leaks during storage. No reported contaminants. Stored for two weeks before release.” 

Professor Hund drummed her fingers on the table. She was missing something. She just knew it. Some detail was escaping her. 

Her icy blue eyes scrutinized the data laid out before her. Deficiency of chemicals. Stored for two weeks. Stored in vat of cast-iron. No anomalies detected. No reported contaminants. Unchanged and unstable. 

Hold on. Her head whipped back to the little notebook. Hund stared down at the black ink on the page once again. 

‘STORED IN VAT - Fe’ stared back at her. 

The _chatalaíoch_ was acidic. Corrosion. The iron. 

The iron had been corroded from the vat. It had been dissolved into the chemical. 

Slowly, a grin began to spread across Professor Hund’s face. 

This changed everything. 

\--- 

She’d called Shiwu in to help her with the new calculations. They needed to find out what concentration of the iron had made it into the _chatalaíoch_ to stabilize it. 

Without the dimensions of the vat, they simply had to go through trial and error. The pasty white substance filled every container on their workbench. They were labelled carefully and watched closely. 

.5% Fe concentration. No change. 

1% Fe concentration. No change. 

1.5% Fe concentration. No change. 

2% Fe concentration. No change. 

The repeated failures did nothing to dissuade Hund. She continued to test. 

15% Fe concentration. No change. 

15.5% Fe concentration. No change. 

16% Fe concentration. No change. 

16.5% Fe concentration. No change. 

Shiwu was looking disheartened. “Are you sure this is the variable we should be testing?” 

“You never make a mistake with your notes. The _chatalaíoch_ was kept in a vat of iron. It was corroded for two weeks. Something had to have happened.” 

29.5% Fe concentration. No change. 

30% Fe concentration. No change. 

30.5% Fe concentration. No change. 

31% Fe concentration. No change. 

“Professor, I am unsure that this will procure results.” 

“Never say never, Shiwu.” She leaned over yet another container, with a carefully measured syringe full of iron flakes. 

41% Fe concentration. No change. 

41.5% Fe concentration. No change. 

42% Fe concen- 

Both scientists leaned back in alarm. The substance was hissing and spitting. Large bubbles rose to the top of the solution and burst. 

Hund laughed in surprise. “Yes!” she cheered. “I told you!” 

The _chatalaíoch_ gave a final shudder. Its texture had changed. It was much more fluid now. The color had changed as well, darkening from a creamy white to a dark shade of cobalt. 

“Take note, Shiwu. 42% Iron concentration has produced results.” 

Shiwu adjusted his splash goggles, still staring at the _chatalaíoch_ in shock. “Yes, Professor,” he finally said, and began to jot down notes. 

Hund leaned forward to examine the little beaker. The solution to her problem had evaded her for almost two weeks now. And she’d had the answer nearly seven days ago. 

She chuckled. It was a little stupid, really. It had been just under her nose. She supposed that made finding the correct answer just that much more satisfying. 

“We need to run a computer simulation on the modified avian _chatalaíoch_.” Shiwu’s words cut into her little fantasy. 

“Yes, of course,” she muttered, stepping back. Hund couldn't help but feel a little disappointed that she'd have to wait. “We can’t test it in the field without having the data first.” 

Shiwu pulled his chemical gloves back on before picking up the beaker of blue fluid. “Don’t worry, professor,” he assured her. The man gave her a grin. “We’ll get to your favorite part soon enough.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you don't mind this short break from our protagonist. We'll get back to Jack soon enough.  
> I was feeling super inspired today, so I banged this out before I even needed to go to school! Perhaps there'll be a DOUBLE UPDATE today? We'll see!


	4. Fidelity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack is brought in for experimentation.

His feet felt like they'd been encased in concrete. Jack shuffled down the hall, occasionally prodded by the guard behind him. Each step was heavier than the last. His heart hammered frantically. It was like a drumbeat, playing out a particularly fast funeral march. 

The guard with him was talkative. “You'd be amazed what kinds of miracles those two can work,” they told him. “Led some little boy in yesterday. He went in crying, and he came out bleating like a goat. Checked on him later, he'd grown horns and everything.” 

If Jack's arms hadn't been pinned behind his back, he would have clutched at his temples. He shuddered. “That's… That's not natural,” he said faintly. 

“Of course it's not.” The guard laughed. The noise made the Irishman grimace. “That’s what makes it interesting.” 

“That's focked up. Yer focked up.” Jack's head was spinning. What the hell was wrong with these people? 

“I'd love to stay and chat, but you have an appointment with the professor.” The guard stopped in front of a large white door. It, too, was made of reinforced steel. His breath caught in his throat. Just looking at this entrance made his heart pump even harder. Danger, danger, danger! his instincts screamed. He wanted to bolt. His knees were shaking. 

“Don't pass out on me.” They shoved him hard. “Wait here.” 

“Like I'm goin’ anywhere else,” Jack managed to mutter. 

The guard stepped forward and pounded on the door. “Professor! I brought the one you were asking for!” 

There was silence. Maybe she'd inhaled toxic fumes and died. It wasn't likely, Jack decided, but it was something to hope for. 

Then there was a series of clicks and clanks, and the door creaked open. 

Jack shut his eyes as the squealing metal assaulted his eardrums. He hated that noise with a passion. Would it kill these people to oil the hinges? 

“Come in,” a sharp voice commanded. 

“She means you, buddy.” 

An elbow dug into Jack's shoulder blades, and he stumbled forth. “Would yeh quit that already!” he snapped. 

“You are dismissed, Sanders.” The same voice spoke again. Her words were direct, clipped, like she was snapping icicles in half. Jack could hear the guard turn and walk away. 

He looked up. Blue met blue. It was that insane scientist from before. The last time he'd seen her, she'd been taunting Mark about capturing him. The time before that, he'd socked her in the face. 

She still had a bruise on her chin. Jack smirked at the sight of it. Mark knew how to throw a fucking punch. 

“Why so amused, McLoughlin?” she asked. A thin, humorless smile began to spread across her face. “Is something funny?” 

That look chilled Jack to the bone. His own grin slipped away. He felt like a schoolboy who'd been scolded. “N-no, ma’am.” 

“Hmm.” Long, clammy fingers clutched at Jack's jaw, forcing his face up to gaze at hers. He let out a surprised choke, unable to form words. 

The scientist scrutinized him. “Very interesting,” she mused. She seemed almost playful now. 

Well, Jack was no plaything. He jerked his head away. “Don't touch me,” he snapped. He was rather irritated, considering the hell of a day he'd just had. “Did I say yeh could touch me? No. So don't.” 

She laughed. He cringed. It was even worse than the rumbling chuckle of the guard who had brought him here. It reminded him of shrieking, or maybe breaking glass. 

“You certainly are a feisty one!” the woman cackled. She gave him a vicious smile, and Jack was reminded of a cat about to pounce on prey. He had a sinking feeling that he was the mouse. 

“So, wot th’ hell are yeh even gonna do ta me? Are yeh gonna tell me?” 

“Where's the fun in knowing that?” she asked him not-so-sweetly. “I think it would be more interesting if it were a surprise. Don't you?” 

“I think it would be great if yeh let me go, miss.” 

“You’re as sassy as your boyfriend, you know that?” 

“W-wot?” He practically choked. Blood rushed to his cheeks in his surprise. “Who?” 

Her eyebrows raised. “Oh, is it not like that? With the way you and Fischbach interacted-” 

“He's my friend!” He was blushing furiously now. “I’m not gay!” 

“Oh, my apologies,” the scientist snickered, making it clear that she wasn't very sorry at all. “Shame. It certainly would have made this a little more fascinating…” 

The insult had made Jack's mood even worse. “Made WOT more fascinatin’?! Woman, if yeh don't start givin’ me answers-” 

She plucked a tool from one of the counters in the room and jabbed him in the stomach. Jack felt the familiar jolt of electricity and doubled over in pain. 

“Agh, FOCK! Wot IS it with yeh people an’ th’ shockin’?!” 

“It's effective, isn't it?” she asked, smirking. “Hmm… I think I know what to do with you now, McLoughlin.” 

“W-” 

“Step into the chamber,” she told him icily, pointing to one of the glass tubes that lined the empty lab. 

Jack's eyes widened, and he stepped back. “No. I don't want to.” 

In response, she held up the tool in her hand. The Irishman could hear the buzz of the voltage coursing through it. He flinched. 

“Step into the chamber,” the professor repeated, “or I'll force you in.” 

“...” 

He hesitantly retreated from her, towards the door. If he opened it, maybe he could make a run for it. 

She seemed to be anticipating the move. “Don’t even try,” the scientist warned. “It's got three locks on it, and none of the keys belong to you. 

“There's nowhere to go, McLoughlin. Get into the chamber.” 

Jack was running out of options. He really didn't want to go in there. For all he knew, he wouldn't come out. 

“I'm warning you.” The grip on her tool tightened. She raised it. 

He released a breath and took a few steps towards the glass capsule. 

The woman didn't relax her stance. For each step he took, she advanced towards him. “Yes, that's it,” she coaxed. 

Seeing no other alternatives, Jack stepped back one last time. His heels pressed into the container. He tensed. Perhaps a rush? If he knocked her over, maybe he could search her for keys. 

“What a good test subject. See how easy things are when you follow orders?” 

Her open hand reached out and shoved his shoulder. His feet caught on the lip of the entrance, and he toppled into the capsule. 

Jack spit out a stream of curses. His elbows and knees throbbed in pain. He frantically scrambled to sit upright, only to find that the door had been closed on him. 

“No!” The Irishman desperately beat against the glass with his fists. The woman laughed. 

“Alright, then! Now that I have you where I want you…” Icy blue eyes narrowed, and that predatory smile spread across her face. Jack could almost picture her teeth as needlelike and razor sharp. 

“...let's see if those simulations that Shiwu and I ran hold any merit.” 

There was a hiss, and all of a sudden the air was thick and sweet. Jack coughed. Everything began to blur around the edges. The world tilted on its axis. All of a sudden, he was so so tired… 

“Good night, McLoughlin.” 

The cruel cackle was like a frozen lake, cracking and snapping. It pierced him to his very soul. Then the ice broke, and he was plunged into the freezing waters of unconsciousness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't miss the double update! Chapter three is that way to your left!  
> DEAR GOD SOMEONE HELP POOR JACKABOY  
> I loved writing the dialogue in this chapter. Hund's a bitch, and Jack is as sassy as ever! Plus, that accent is fun to write~


	5. Prisoners

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack wakes up after the procedure.

It felt like he'd been hit by a freight train. Twice. 

Jack let out a groggy moan. Everything seemed to ache, all the way down to his bones. His arms and legs were like lead. His eyelids refused to lift. Even opening his mouth brought pain to his entire face. He laid there in the darkness, barely able to breathe. 

He couldn't really do anything else, so Jack thought. If Mark were here, he would have teased the Irishman. “I didn't think that thinking was something you were capable of doing,” he would have jeered. 

Jack would have tried to shove him, but he was still too extremely sore to even move, so all he'd be able to manage was a “fock yeh.” 

His friend likely would have made an innuendo out of that. Jack laughed aloud, the chuckles turning into a whispered “Ow, ow, ow,” as pain lanced through his midsection. 

“Oh, are you awake?” It was the voice of that crazy professor. Jack scowled. “I didn't think it would take this long for you to recover your consciousness. I was beginning to worry you'd slip into a coma from the trauma.” 

He struggled to lift one of his arms, only to find that it had been lashed down. “Woh…” Jack managed. He cracked his eyelids open, and painfully bright light instantly flooded his vision. He winced. It made his throbbing headache even worse. 

“Ah, there you are. Welcome back, McLoughlin.” The voice seemed somewhat amused. “How do you feel?” 

“Great, thanks,” Jack snarked through clenched teeth. “Just got fockin’ experimented on by a mad scientist. Couldn't be better.” 

“There's no use being sarcastic. If you don't answer honestly, I won't know how to dose you for painkillers or possible unforeseen anomalies.” 

“Unferseen-” Jack tried to sit up. His chest was strapped down as well, so only his head lifted. White-hot pain immediately shot down his neck and through his spine. He let out a faint wheeze and collapsed back to the surface he'd been lying on. 

“Don't strain yourself,” the professor snapped. “I don't want you injured.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” he complained, forcing his eyes open again. Once he'd adjusted to the initial brightness, he decided that he was still in the room that the scientist had planned to experiment on him in. “Yeh want me in th’ best possible condition so yeh can run tests on me. Don't yeh?” 

“You learn quickly. I'm impressed.” She shot him a predatory smile, like she was faintly amused with the squirming prey that she'd snagged. Jack certainly felt as helpless as a cornered mouse. 

That reminded him. “Wot th’ hell did yeh do ta me, anyways?” he muttered. “Didja make me a goat? A fish?” 

“Nothing as unrefined as that,” she sneered. “No, you're a very special subject to me, McLoughlin, so I thought you'd deserve a special enhancement.” 

He didn't like the way she said special. “I’m flattered,” he muttered. “Thanks fer yer consideration, oh kind an’ powerful scientist miss.” 

“Oh, did I never tell you my name?” she asked, giving him a dark chuckle. “I am Professor Hund.” 

“Look, Hund, will yeh just tell me wot yeh did ta me already? Yer killin’ me here.” 

“That's for me to know and you to find out. You're being relocated, isn't that nice? No more tiny cold metal rooms to eat and sleep in.” She flashed him another vicious grin. Jack shuddered. 

“Now, tell me how you're feeling so I can prescribe some meds for you.” 

He was untrustful, but spoke anyways. “Everythin’s sore,” he admitted, “especially my chest and back.” 

“Apt, considering the nature of the experimentation. I should have something prepared for you soon.” She gave him a pat on the head, and he hissed in annoyance. 

“Don't patronize me,” he spat at her. 

A loud series of bangs echoed through the lab. “Looks like Sanders is here to relocate you,” Hund stated. “Do you need to go back to your old holding unit to retrieve your things?” She laughed at her own little joke. Jack didn't find it very amusing at all. 

She bent over him to unbuckle his straps. He sat up, grimacing as his abdomen ached in complaint. He still couldn't move his arms from his sides, as some kind of binder was wrapped around them. How many kinds of handcuffs did these people even have? 

Professor Hund went over to the heavy metal door and set to work unlocking it. She wasn't kidding about the “lots of locks” part. Jack counted three sharp clicks of keys in keyholes before the entrance swung open. 

“And don't even think about making a run for it,” Hund told him. Then she grabbed his shoulder and shoved him towards the waiting guard. 

“Hey, you're not dead,” they greeted. “Where’ve you been? Haven't heard from you for two days, greenie.” 

He'd been under for two days? Jack stared at the guard in surprise. No wonder Professor Hund thought he'd slipped into a coma. He was shocked. He was incredulous. Mostly, though, he was frustrated by the fact that he was out that long. Two entire days of his life were completely wasted! 

“Come on. It's time to move you to the ‘successful experimentation’ wing.” 

Jack frowned. “Where d’yeh go if experimentation isn't successful?” 

The guard laughed, and his blood chilled. “The morgue.” 

\--- 

The ‘successful experimentation’ wing had glass walls instead of metal ones. Jack supposed it was to keep an eye on the subjects they held. They must have been reinforced in some way though. As he was led past, a heavily muscular young woman with bull horns ran headfirst into the side of her cage. It didn't even shudder, and she stumbled back, clutching her cranium. The Irishman grimaced in sympathy. 

It was insane. Some people sported claws, others had tails, some had fins, the jaws of many held sharp teeth. One glassy-eyed little girl looked relatively normal, until a sticky tongue unfurled and slapped against the glass. Jack jumped. 

At least it was quieter. The noises of these people were muffled. He couldn't hear as much of the heart wrenching cacophony he'd caught wind of during his time in the cell of steel. It was still there, though, and it was making his head pound. 

“Hund said she'd picked out a certain cell for you. Don't know why, but she was pretty damn specific.” The guard stopped in front of an empty cell. On the left was another vacant room, and on the right was what Jack could best describe as a mound of feathers. 

“...uh, thanks,” he muttered. What the hell. 

“You're welcome!” they replied cheerily. Holding Jack by the collar with one hand, the guard picked out a key from their ring with the other and inserted it into the door. There was a sharp clack, and the entrance was (thankfully silently) yanked open. 

With another push, Jack stumbled inside. “Wot IS it with yeh people an’ shovin’ me around?!” he complained. “Yeh could just ask!” 

“You’d say no,” the guard pointed out. 

“...touché.” 

The door slammed shut, and Jack watched them trudge away. He tried to pull his arms free of the binder still wrapped around him, to no avail. Then he realized that he wasn't supposed to be able to remove it. 

“H-hey! HEY!” he yelped. “COME BACK HERE AN’ TAKE THIS SHIT OFFA ME, YEH BITCH! YEH FERGOT!” 

The guard was already gone. The Irishman groaned and pressed his face into the glass door. “Fock.” 

Well, there was nothing that he could do about it now. Jack took a couple steps back, then sat down on the floor. He winced. He hadn't meant to sit down that hard. 

The Irishman looked left. All he had for company was a pile of feathers. Great. 

Boredom settled in quickly. He began to tap one foot, then the other. Jack quickly settled into a rhythm, recalling the times he'd played the drums when he was younger. It was the same principle. All you needed to do was to find a couple of good sounds and then make some noise with them. 

After fifteen minutes of tapping his feet on the floor, it occurred to him that maybe there was someone under the feathers. 

Jack paused to think. The guard had told him that Hund had picked this place out for him for a reason. Maybe he was meant to annoy his cellmate. He was good at that. 

The Irishman did his best to scoot over to the wall. With his hands pinned by the binder, Jack lifted one leg and pounded his heel against the glass. 

“Oy! Hey! Yeh there, with th’ feathers!” he called. “Hello!?” 

The pile shifted. He slammed his leg into the wall even harder. 

“Come on man! Don't ignore me! I can see yeh, yeh bitch! These walls are clear! I know yeh can hear me!” 

Finally, the feathers trembled and fell away. Wide, sweeping wings snapped open. Their owner turned to glare at Jack. Their mouth opened, evidently to scold the Irishman. Then they froze. 

Jack's breath caught in his throat. 

One second passed as they stared at each other. 

Then two. 

Then three. 

Then the other person sprang to life. 

With a single beat of their wings, they propelled themself across the cell and threw their entire body into the glass. A loud BANG shuddered through to Jack's side, and he flinched away. 

The person scrambled to pick themself up, and desperately pressed their hands to the glass. They looked over Jack, determined to take in every single detail. The Irishman simply stared in disbelief. He was frozen with shock. 

Eyes wide with sudden clarity, an amazed smile began to creep across the other's face. They started to say something, but stopped, completely awestruck. 

Finally, shoulders shaking, they slumped over. Their eyes were brimming with tears, but Jack could hear laughter faintly through the wall. 

He himself was aware that his cheeks were damp, but he couldn't stop smiling. It was impossible. Yet it was happening. 

They both pushed their foreheads against the barrier separating them. Glistening brown eyes met with teary blue ones. Jack could tell that he and Mark were thinking the exact same thing. 

_He’s alive._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAY HAY LUK WHO BAK IT MERKIPLER
> 
> And Jack continues to be a sassy lassie as always. Perfection.


	6. Laughing With

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mark and Jack reconnect.

He and Mark found it difficult to communicate, but they managed. The glass was very good at insulating noise, so they had to raise their voices to speak to each other. At least they weren't bothering anyone else. 

“How long’ve yeh been in here?” 

Mark shrugged. “A few days. They haven't done much,” he called to Jack. “They take me to the training chamber once a day to make sure I stay in shape. It sucks. What about you?” 

“They ran some diagnostics on me,” Jack half-yelled back. “Then that crazy scientist, Profes’r Hund, did somethin’ ta me.” 

Mark's eyes went wide. “Wh… What? They did something to you? What?” He began to frantically scan the Irishman, trying to take in any possible changes. 

“I really don't know. I feel okay… Maybe it's slow-actin’ or wotever.” 

The taller man frowned. “I don't think so. Maybe it's something we can't see. You could have gills under your collar, or fur under your sleeves, or a tail tucked into your pants…” 

Jack raised his eyebrows. “Yeh sure that's a tail, Markimoo?” 

He stared at him in confusion for a moment before breaking out into laughter. Jack quickly joined in. The two giggled like mischievous schoolboys. 

Finally, Mark let out a sigh that the other couldn't hear. “But… Everyone I've seen get carted in here has undergone some sort of physical change. I don't see anything new about you at all. You're just plain old Jackaboy.” 

“Are yeh callin’ me plain?” he teased. 

“What? No! You're gorgeous!” 

Mark stopped. Jack stopped. They stared at each other. 

Then Mark turned bright pink and hid his face with his wings, while Jack roared with laughter. 

“You heard nothing!” the taller man snapped from within his feathery cocoon. “You're smelly! You're a scrawny smelly leprechaun!” 

The Irishman laughed even harder. “Yeh can't take it back! No takebacks! Yeh think I'm gorgeous, yeh admitted it!” 

“It was a slip of the tongue! You're hideous! I look much much better than you do!” Mark pouted. He was absolutely adorable when he was flustered like this, Jack decided. 

“In yer dreams, maybe!” the Irishman crowed. “Or maybe not. D’yeh have dreams about gorgeous Jackaboy? Hmmm?” 

“I swear to God, I'm going to shatter this wall and strangle you!” Mark retorted from behind his wings. “Shut up already!” 

“Yeh can't shut up th’ Irish! I'm gonna hold this over yer head ferever. Markimoo thinks I'm gorgeous!” he taunted gleefully. 

“I am never speaking to you again. This was a mistake,” the other moaned. 

“Yeh don't have ta! Yeh already said wot I needed ta hear!” 

Jack continued to chuckle as Mark laid back on the floor. He threw his hands up in exasperation, then let them fall back so they were outstretched above his head. 

“You suck, Jack.” 

“Do I now?” 

“GOD DAMN IT!” 

“Admit it, Mark,” Jack cackled. “Yeh missed me.” 

Mark blew his cerulean hair out of his face. “As much as I hate to say it, yes. I did.” 

\--- 

“Why d’ya need ME, then?” Jack snapped. 

The guard shrugged. “I'm not the one making the orders. I just follow them.” 

With one hand, he grabbed Jack by the binder still wrapped around him and tugged him forward. Jack nearly tripped after being subject to the sudden momentum, but he managed to recover. 

They kicked the door to Jack's cell closed, since their other hand was currently clutching Mark's arm. The taller man didn't struggle against his own binder, instead staring blindly at the floor. 

He looked up in surprise, however, when he heard Jack's complaint. “Wha-? Why is he coming along?” he asked, a note of panic creeping into his voice. 

“Are you deaf? I just said I don't know. The doctor specifically asked for both of you. That's all I know.” 

Mark shot Jack a worried look, who returned it with twice the intensity. His heart was starting to pound. 

The two men were half-led, half-dragged down the hall. Jack noticed that his friend didn't make any attempts to resist, simply trudging through the facility without complaint. It wasn't like him at all. If anything, Mark was always the one to put up a fight. His energy and sheer tenacity were qualities that Jack loved about him. And these people had taken it away from him. The very thought made his blood boil. 

Mark released a slow, long breath as they approached a large blast door. It opened to reveal a large room, at least the size of a football field, and twice as high. Metal panels glistened all around them. Jack's eyes widened. 

The two were shoved forward. A loud slam behind them told them that they'd been shut in. 

Mark, with difficulty, managed to shrug off his binder. Jack attempted to do the same, but his arms were just pinned too tightly. It wrapped around too much of him. 

He turned to Jack. “I'm not sure what's happening, but… They might make you bait again.” 

Jack gritted his teeth. “I won't let that happen.” 

His friend's eyebrows raised. He looked surprised, even impressed. Mark opened his mouth to say something, reaching to help the Irishman with his binder, but he was interrupted. 

“There you are.” 

Jack looked up. Far, far above them was a mirror set into the wall. No, he decided, it was one-way glass. They were being watched. 

“Shiwu and I were intrigued by your interactions. You two seem to be… Compatible.” The cold voice was immediately identifiable as Professor Hund. 

“Wot th’ hell’s that supposed ta mean?” Jack yelled to the empty room. His voice reverberated against the steel plates. 

“It means,” she continued, “that we're starting a new series of tests. One that requires cooperation.” 

Mark and Jack looked at each other. “...huh?” the older man said in surprise. It was obvious he'd been expecting this turn of events about as much as Jack had. 

“You heard me correctly, Fischbach,” Hund affirmed. “Now…” 

There was the shriek of metal on metal, about a thousand times louder than Jack had ever heard it. He let out an anguished cry and sank to his knees. With his hands bound, he had no way of muffling the sheer destructive noise. His eyes squeezed shut, and he bent over, pressing his forehead into his knees. The room trembled and roared around him. 

After what seemed like an eternity, the hellish symphony finally waned. The Irishman slowly opened his eyes. 

The room was now filled with all sorts of insane obstacles. Panels of metal jutted out every which way, waving and jerking. Dangerous-looking ropes, some with weights attacked, slashed back and forth from their position on the ceiling. Platforms raised and lowered. Ramps swirled. Hoops spun. Turbines blasted. 

Jack stared, horrorstruck. This was insane. Mark had been flying through this shit for three days? He’d flown through this shit the last time they’d gotten caught?! 

He turned to ask whether the poor guy was actually okay or not, but was rudely cut off as something hooked onto him. 

“You won’t be needing this much longer,” the intercom transmitted. “You’ll need your hands.” 

Jack was jerked back violently without warning. He yelped as the motion repeated. Then the unknown force yanked him into the air. 

“Shit! Shitshitshitshitshit!” Jack could feel the blood drain from his face as the ground was whisked away from under his feet. His breaths came sharp and fast. No ground nothing to stand on he was high and 

getting higher oh God he was feeling dizzy he was going to be sick but that was the least of his worries he was going to fall and go SPLAT and- 

“Hmph. The binder is much sturdier than I expected.” The thing attached to his back began jerking violently up and down, shaking Jack along with it. He tried to scream, but no sound came out. Blood was roaring in his ears. His stomach jolted over and over. 

He could hear Mark’s voice, he was yelling at someone, telling them that he could handle it, telling them that Jack could get hurt, when a loud RIP split the air. 

Jack’s gut lurched as he bucked forward a few inches. All of a sudden he felt a LOT less secure to whatever was gripping him by his binder. He couldn’t breathe, he didn’t dare move, oh God, the world was spinning, he could barely keep his eyes open- 

“Relax, Fischbach. Think of it as a trust exercise.” 

There was another RIP, and then all of a sudden he was in motion, head over heels, vaguely aware that he was screaming his lungs out, he couldn’t tell which way was up. 

Something warm and infinitely more comfortable than the binder had wrapped around him. His descent slowed and then stopped. He was gently lowered to the floor. His knees were shaking, he couldn’t support his own weight. Jack collapsed, gripping the steel plating as well as he could, wheezing into the cold metal. He never thought he’d be so happy to feel the stuff pressing against him. 

“Oh, oh God, are you okay, please tell me you’re okay, Jack, Jack look at me, SEAN-” 

The use of the name made Jack’s head snap up in surprise. Mark was pale, bending over him, breathing hard, sweating bullets. They held eye contact for a moment, then the taller man grabbed him by his shirt and pulled him into a hug. 

“I couldn’t lose you another time, Jack, I couldn’t,” he whispered. Jack could feel him trembling. He was shaking just as hard. 

“I’m okay, I-I’m not hurt…” the Irishman told him. “Just scared as hell…” 

“I can see why!” All of a sudden, Mark was angry again. He let go of Jack and got to his feet. 

“WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT FOR?!” he screamed. Jack stared, awestruck. “YOU COULD HAVE KILLED HIM! I COULD HAVE PULLED THAT THING OFF HIM MYSELF!” 

“Interesting. Shiwu, take note that Fischbach and McLoughlin have passed the first exercise.” 

“FIRST EXERCISE!” Mark exploded. “IS THIS JUST A FUCKING GAME TO YOU?!” 

Jack was beginning to feel dizzy again. He tried to stand up, to shake it off. 

Something was off. His center of balance was all wrong. Weight was there that shouldn’t have been. The Earth tilted on its axis. He gulped, his throat dry, and managed to clutch Mark’s hand. 

“Huh? Wh-what is it?” Mark looked at him in surprise, fury completely forgotten. 

“I-I dunno,” Jack managed to say. His head was foggy. “Hard ta balance…” 

Mark’s eyes widened in a look that Jack could really only describe as dawning comprehension. “Anything… else?” he asked slowly. 

“W-weight,” he spat out. Words were getting difficult. It was hard to process anything. His heart was still pumping from his scare. 

The older man gently placed a hand on Jack’s shoulder to steady him. He pulled free of the Irishman’s grip and slid his open palm down his back. The smaller of the two practically jumped out of his skin as an alien sensation took hold. Something was there that was not supposed to be. 

Jack couldn’t connect the pieces in front of him in his flustered state. He knew there was an answer, he just couldn’t SEE it. It frustrated him. “Wot…wos…?” 

The hand was pulled away, and then placed on his shoulder. Brown eyes stared intently into blue. 

“Jack,” Mark said in the quietest voice that he’d ever heard the man use, “You have wings.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> …and then he fainted.
> 
> SO HOW WAS THAT WAS THAT GOOD DID I DO GOOD
> 
> YOU'RE GONNA HAVE TO WAIT TIL TOMORROW FOR MORE GOOD SHIT BECAUSE IT'S ABOUT TO GET ALL PORTAL 2 ON THESE GUYS' ASSES EXCEPT WITH WINGS INSTEAD OF PORTAL GUNS HOW FUCKING SICK IS THAT


	7. Two Birds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mark has to teach Jack.

Jack was pale and trembling for an entirely different reason now. His friend couldn't be serious. No. This was crazy. It was a dream, this whole goddamn mess was just some crazy dream he’d been having. 

Mark shook him gently. “Jack. Are you there? Talk to me, buddy.” 

“Y… Yeh’re kiddin’ me,” he finally managed to wheeze. 

“Look at me. Don't freak out.” Jack's eyes met Mark's. “We will get through this. We'll be okay. Just stay with me.” 

He was shaking right down to his toes, but the Irishman managed to nod. “I-I can do this,” he said, more to himself than to the other. 

“If you two are finished,” Hund barked, “I'd like to get to testing.” 

Mark turned. “You're just going to throw him in like that? He hasn't had any training yet! He's scared of heights, he can't fly!” 

Jack found himself nodding desperately in agreement. Anywhere but up. After what just happened, he wasn't too keen on taking to the air again. 

“Well then, I suppose you'll have to teach him, won't you?” He could picture the smirk on Hund’s face, and the Irishman wanted nothing more than to sock her in the jaw. He envied Mark. 

Mark made a noise of disgust, then turned back to Jack. “We have to comply, or they'll shock us until we pass out.” 

His eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Have they-?!” 

“A few times,” the American admitted. 

Jack could feel a boiling ball of anger and hatred swelling in his gut. They'd dared to hurt Mark, simply because he couldn't meet standards under conditions he'd never even fucking signed up for? 

“We'd better hurry.” His words cut into the smaller man's rather homicidal thoughts. Jack shook himself mentally. 

“Turn around, I think they might have already cut holes in your suit. If not, well, I'm strong.” 

“In yer dreams, maybe,” Jack said weakly. He turned his back to the older man. He stiffened as Mark’s hands pressed against him, grasping hold of the new appendages on his back. Then, carefully, they were freed from their prison of blue cloth. Jack was suddenly aware of how much his back and wings were aching. Did it hurt to keep them tucked away like this? Was Mark in pain whenever he hid his wings? 

“Okay, try moving them.” 

This was bizarre. Jack thought for a moment, then decided it would probably be a movement in the shoulder blades. 

It was as easy as flexing his arm. He felt his feathers brush against each other, felt air move through them. Jack was seized with the sudden, insane desire to take to the air. But that was stupid. Not to mention he was still very afraid of heights. 

He raised his hands above his head, stretching his arms and back for the first time in two days. His wings opened along with the stretch, straining to their fullest extent. There were several popping and cracking noises, and he let out a groan. Then he relaxed, a little dizzy from the sudden exertion. 

He turned to find a completely red-faced Mark, standing oddly stiffly. “...er, yeh okay, Mark?” Jack asked him. 

“I'm fine!” he squeaked, about an octave higher than normal. Then he tried again. “I mean, I'm… I'm fine.” 

Jack stared. He was trying to figure out what on Earth could have flustered Mark so badly. 

“I don't have all day, Fischbach.” Hund's sharp comment brought both men out of their daze. “Teach him already.” 

“Oh geez… Well, it's really not something you can learn on the ground,” Mark began. “I just kind of figured it out as I went along. At least I'll know where you're making errors and be able to help you correct them…” 

That didn't really encourage Jack much, but… He trusted Mark to keep him safe. 

“I'm listenin’.” 

\--- 

Professor Hund had made her impatience with the whole affair crystal clear. “I expect results, Fischbach, not a kindergarten lesson.” 

“I started from scratch!” he said indignantly. “I was flying for a week before you dragged me to fucking Sacramento. You can't expect miracles to happen! Jack didn't even know he had wings until half an hour ago!” 

Jack was currently sprawled in a corner, wings limp and limbs tangled. He was also cussing his head off. 

“Not to mention he's afraid of heights! This is like the twelfth time I've told you! That might make him, oh I dunno, a little reluctant to go high! Don't you think?” 

The response was a garbled sigh from the P.A. system. “Do what you must. But I expect him to be flying within seven days. You have one week to teach him, Fischbach. And if you don't… I'm sure I can find better subjects to work with.” 

Mark shot a desperate look to Jack, who fell silent in worry. They had a week to teach an acrophobic to fly. Yeah. That was going to be easy. 

“...I'll keep working.” 

"Good,” Hund purred. “Don't disappoint me, Fischbach.” 

“God forbid,” the American muttered. 

Jack managed to push himself to his feet. He stumbled under the unfamiliar weight, and Mark grabbed his hands to steady him. 

“Th-thanks.” 

“Don't worry, Jackaboy,” Mark told him. “We'll be fine.” From the sound of his voice, the Irishman guessed his friend was trying to reassure himself as much as he was Jack. Nevertheless, he nodded. 

“Okay, let's try it again. A single downstroke.” 

Jack took a deep breath. He raised his wings. One downstroke. He'd be airborne. It wouldn't be hard, he just needed to not think about the dizzying height and the lack of the solid ground under his feet and the lurching in his gut as vertigo washed over him- 

He jolted, and then flew forwards as he snapped his wings down. Jack crashed headlong into Mark, who let out a surprised yelp. 

The two tumbled down to the steel-plated floor in an explosion of feathers and swear words. Jack's face slammed into something hard. 

“Fock-” 

“Shit-” 

He opened his eyes. Mark was grumbling unhappily under him, rubbing at his forehead. 

“Oh, fock, sorry Mark-” He tried to stand, flapped his wings a little too hard, and fired himself back. He landed flat on his spine, about ten yards away from his friend. 

The two groaned in harmony. An odd noise coming from the P.A. system told Jack that Professor Hund was laughing at them. 

“You know, the wait might not be so bad. That was rather entertaining.” 

Jack blushed. 

\--- 

“Eyes on me. Just watch.” 

He watched carefully as Mark spread his wings. Despite himself, his breath caught slightly in his throat. He'd never get used to that sight. 

...Well, maybe that was a good thing. 

Jack forced himself to pay attention. He watched as the other man put energy into a simple sweeping motion, and he glided into the air without any effort. Jack's breath hitched a second time. Holy shit. 

Mark made quick, short strokes in the air, allowing him to hover. Jack recalled him having a problem with that before. He really had been practicing. 

“Alright, were you watching?” 

“Yeah,” he answered. “Should I go ahead?” 

“Yep!” 

Jack let out a shaky breath he didn't know he'd been holding. He raised his wings and shut his eyes. 

_Clear your mind. Don't think about falling, don't think about the hard ground, don't think about the dizzying height-_

“Jack?” 

_Think about Mark instead. Think about those beautiful wings of his, and how he seems to make flying look effortless. He's… He's perfect._

“Jack, slow down!” 

He opened his eyes in surprise. His wings were pumping, he was going higher and higher, the ground was spiraling away from him! Mark was desperately chasing him, arms outstretched. How had he gotten so HIGH?! In his shock, his wings began to stiffen. He was going to fall. 

Mark's hands clasped his, jarring him. “Calm down, Jack. Look at me. Keep flapping.” 

His voice was level and patient, and it calmed Jack. He hadn't realized he was hyperventilating until his breathing began to slow again. 

“Don't think. Don't panic. Just feel it.” 

“Okay…” Normally he'd call Mark out for being a weird-ass hippie dipshit, but it was a bad idea to argue with the only thing keeping him airborne. 

“I'm going to let go.” 

“Yeah. Alright, I think I got it.” 

“I'm right here, don't worry.” 

With that, Mark released him. 

Jack sank like a stone almost immediately. 

_Mayday mayday ABORT ABORT ABORT! FUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCK!!!_

He frantically attempted to flap his wings, to carve the air like he'd seen Mark do, but ended up throwing himself into an uncontrolled roll. His stomach flipped. He couldn't tell which way was up. Jack screeched. 

Hands wrapped around his wrist, stopping his fall rather abruptly. His arm was about yanked out of his socket, but Jack wasn't one to complain. 

Oh, wait, of course he was. 

“Ah SHIT! Would it’ve killed yeh ta try an’ NOT dislocate my shoulder?!” 

“Do you want me to drop you?” Mark shot back irritably. “Because I can drop you. Would that be better?” 

Jack didn't have a response to that. Instead, he stuck out his tongue at the American. Mark snorted. 

“Alright, maybe we should start with something simpler. Knowing how to glide is pretty much essential to flying.” 

Jack would have crossed his arms, had the other man not been holding them. “Wot th’ hell does glidin’ hafta do with anythin’? It's just fallin’ with style.” 

Mark gave him an amused smile. His gut lurched again, for an entirely different reason. Jack found his cheeks burning. _The hell?_

“Well, Jackaboy, style can make all the difference.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I THINK THIS MAY BE MY GAYEST CHAPTER YET HOLY **SHIT**


	8. You've Got Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack has a breakthrough or two.

_“You're improving a lot,” Mark had told him with a grin._

_“Yeah right,” he'd shot back irritably. It was the fourth time in a row he'd crashed, and Jack had been getting rather frustrated._

_“I'm serious! Come on, one more try. I've got a good feeling about this one.”_

_So Jack had been lifted into the air, which was terrifying as fuck, and dropped once he assured Mark he was ready, which was at least twice as terrible since it meant leaving his presence._

_He'd frantically attempted to recall Mark's advice as he dropped through the air with all the grace of a falling piano. He'd squeezed his eyes shut._

Think of Mark, _he'd thought._

\--- 

All this played over and over in Jack's head as he stared at his feet in disbelief. Somehow, he'd wound up standing up straight. Hadn't he been falling a moment ago? 

There was a loud whoop, and then Mark landed in front of him, skidding to a halt. Without warning, he yanked Jack into a hug. The Irishman let out a squeak of surprise as he felt his feet lift off the ground. Mark spun in a circle or two, taking Jack along with him. The smaller one just held on tight, getting more and more flustered by the moment. 

“You did it! You did it! I knew you could! I told you I had a good feeling about this one!” Mark jabbered. He finally set the other down. He was positively beaming, and the sight of him so happy made Jack flush. Why, he wasn't sure. 

“D-did wot?” he managed to ask dazedly. 

“What do you mean, did what?” Mark was incredulous. “You did it! You glided! That was perfect, you even landed on your feet!” 

“...I did?” Jack didn't recall doing any of that. The last thing he remembered was tumbling uselessly from Mark's arms like a discarded ragdoll, ready to scream any curses he deemed appropriate. 

“You really don't remember that? But… You just did it…” Mark looked so bewildered, like a puppy who couldn't find a ball that their owner had never really thrown. It made Jack want to throw his arms around him in a hug. 

“I dunno, man, I guess I blanked out or somethin’.” 

“Well, that sucks! It was cool!” 

It wasn't like Mark to compliment him like this. Normally, he'd be poking fun at Jack for forgetting, and then doing his best to convince the Irishman that he'd done something unbelievably, inhumanly stupid and whacked his head. 

“A-are yeh okay?” he asked him cautiously. 

Mark let out a hearty laugh. “Oh, Jackaboy, why wouldn’t I be?” 

\--- 

The session had ended for the day, and both men had been thrown unceremoniously back into their cells. They tried to converse, to talk about the day’s events and Jack’s significant improvement, but the nearby guard kept them quiet. 

Seriously, would it have killed them to give these people something to sleep on?! He was lying down on the floor, curled up so as not to lose any of his precious body heat. 

Jack lifted his head slightly and squinted. If he looked closely, he could make out Mark. Well, not exactly, his wings were covering him. 

That was probably a good idea, Jack thought to himself. He slowly opened them, still unused to moving them. When he smacked himself in the face twice, he decided it would be best to guide them using his hands instead. 

The Irishman was surprised as he took hold of them. He could feel the touch, and it seemed his wings were rather sensitive. This was not something he’d get used to very soon. They twitched involuntarily as he pulled them around him. 

With distant sounds of despair all around him, Jack curled up inside the cocoon his wings formed. It was a significant improvement, reducing both the unforgiving stiffness of the floor and the already muffled noises that filled the laboratory. 

\--- 

Sleep didn’t come too easily, but when it did come, Jack found himself dreaming not of falling, but of flying. 

There was no fear in his heart. The sky was clear, his wings were strong, and he soared effortlessly through the wild blue yonder. 

"On your left!" Something whipped past him, sending him sprawling. Jack squawked in indignation. 

Mark pulled up a few yards away, hovering in the air. He shot the Irishman a shit-eating grin, then called, "Catch me if you can!" 

He zipped off, leaving a couple of light blue feathers drifting lazily in the wind. A smile split Jack's face. "Oh no yeh don't." 

The smaller man gave chase, and soon the two were darting around each other in a frantic, playful dance. Jack didn't feel tired or scared. On the contrary, he was full to bursting with energy and sheer glee. He let out a laugh. 

Mark stopped, beginning to chuckle as well. Jack seized his chance and dove in. He slammed straight into Mark's chest, and the older man let out a wheeze. 

"Gotcha! Yeh let yer guard down!" 

"That's not fair!" he complained. 

"That was entirely fair, Markimoo." 

"You're a cheating cheater who cheats." 

"Oh sweetheart, I'd never cheat on you!" 

The two men roared with laughter. Once they settled down, Jack relaxed. 

It really was a beautiful day outside. The sun was shining, the wind was blowing gently... But it was nothing compared to the view he had in front of him. 

"Jack, are you going to let go, or are you comfortable?" Mark chuckled. 

"Nah, I'm comfy right here in yer arms." 

The taller man snorted. 

"I'm serious, Mark, this is nice." 

There was silence for a while. Jack closed his eyes. Their wings scooped the air gently around them, keeping the two effortlessly airborne. 

"...you know what would be nicer?" the other man asked. 

"Wot's that?" He looked up. 

"This." Mark smoothed Jack's hair back. He began to slowly lean in. 

Jack's breath hitched in his throat, and he lifted his head to meet him. 

\--- 

His eyes snapped open, and he choked on a mouthful of feathers. 

Jack sat up, dazed and confused. What the hell? 

Oh. Right. The lab. 

He looked around. Sure enough, he was still on the floor in the same room he'd been in. More of that brown slop was near the door. He shuddered in disgust. 

Then he looked over at Mark. The man in the next cell was still asleep, wings flung open, glasses askew. His chest rose and fell. 

For some reason, the sight made Jack blush. He looked rather ravishing like that. 

Then he frowned. What? 

Jack tried to take his mind off things, but found his thoughts wandering back to the dream he'd just had. He and Mark had been free and happy, no one but them for the first time in forever. 

Then Mark had... 

They were about to... 

His heart began to speed up. He looked back over to the dozing angel, who was none the wiser about the sudden predicament. Jack was sure his face was a flaming red now. 

"Oh, shit."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FINA-FUCKING-LLY ONE OF THESE ASSHOLES FIGURED IT OUT  
> GOD DAMN NOW JUST KISS ALREADY YOU SHITS


	9. Better

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack trains hard with Mark.

“...are you okay, Jack?” Mark asked him through the glass. 

Jack wanted to laugh. _Yeah. Perfectly fine. Just figured out that I’m gay for my best friend is all._

“I’m alright,” he called back. “Weird dream’s all.” 

“Well, what was it about?” 

He tensed. He hadn’t been expecting the question. 

“...Jack?” 

He saw no reason to lie. So he told the truth. Part of it. “Just… flyin’. I wos flyin’. With yeh.” 

Mark’s eyebrows raised. “Well, maybe it’s a sign of things to come?” 

Jack just about choked on his own spit. He could feel his face turning bright red. 

“Jack-! What’s wrong?” 

“Nothin’!” he blurted. “E-everythin’s fine!” 

“Er…” The other man stared at him suspiciously. “If you say so, Jackaboy.” 

Good going, Jack. Now he knows something’s up, he thought irritably. 

He was almost grateful when the guard came for the two of them, preventing any further conversation. 

Almost. 

\--- 

Never mind, this was way worse. Mark was holding him close again, and he could feel his face burning. Fuck. FUCK. 

“Jack, you’ve gotta focus,” he murmured softly. Jack was focused. On Mark. And all the little details he’d never thought to notice before. Even now, his voice, quiet as it was, was rich and deep and flowing and _oh Jesus fucking Christ just drop me and let me shatter my spine and die._

“Y-yeah,” he managed. “Got it. Focus.” 

“...do you have any idea what you’re supposed to be focusing on?” 

“No.” 

Mark laughed, making Jack flush an even deeper red. _FOR GOD’S SAKE STOP BEING SO CUTE OR I’LL KILL US BOTH, I SWEAR._

“We’re working on gliding again. Do you remember now, Jackaboy?” 

“Y-yeah,” he lied. “Of course. Sure.” 

"Alright. I’m gonna let go now. Remember, keep those wings open. You’ll want to flap. Don’t.” 

“O-okay. Right.” He closed his eyes, trying his best to clear his mind. 

“Here we go. One…” 

_Keep your wings open. Keep them open._

“Two…” 

_Fuck, Mark, stop dragging out every single syllable, you’re killing me-_

“Three!” 

His strong arms loosened, and Jack slipped through Mark’s grip like sand. He let out a yelp, shooting his wings out. He was already falling off to one side, so when he extended fully, he sliced off to the left. He was headed straight for the wall. 

“Jack! Turn!” 

“FOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOCK-!” 

With enormous effort, and every instinct in his body screaming at him angrily, Jack tilted even further to the left. He found himself sideways, skimming along the steel plating. His bare feet were just barely ghosting the metal below his body. 

“YEAH! Mark, look!” he cheered excitedly. 

“That’s perfect!” There was relief in the other man’s voice. “Alright, keep steady, I’ll pull up alongside. Just don’t crash.” 

“Are yeh kiddin’?! I don’t crash! I’m a fockin’ flyin’ ace! Lookit me!” 

“Try telling that to you, yesterday.” 

“Hey, shut up! I’m a new man now, Mark! Nothin’ can stop me!” 

Jack considered eating his words when Mark came alongside him and grabbed his hand. He jolted in surprise. 

“Okay. We’re gonna level out now. Nice and steady.” 

_SHIT._

Immediately, Jack’s altitude began to drop. 

“Whoa, whoa, hey! Look at me. Focus.” 

It was difficult, but with Mark gripping his arm, it helped him to counterbalance. Painfully slowly, Jack grew level with Mark. The two were now gliding side by side. 

“I’m gonna let go.” 

“Okay. I’m ready.” That was a lie. 

Their hands slipped apart, and Jack was filled with a mixture of relief and disappointment. Mark banked gently away from him, leaving the smaller man drifting through the air on his own. 

“Alright, you’re doing great. You’re getting close to the ground, so just stick your feet out.” 

That was going to be difficult. Gut clenching, eyes squeezed shut, Jack swayed. The familiar feeling of vertigo washed over him. Finally, he managed to turn upright. His feet found cold metal. His momentum continued to carry him forward, so he ran for a few moments along the ground before slowing to a halt. 

“How wos that?” 

“Perfect.” Mark grinned, a few feet above him. He lowered down with gentle wingstrokes and landed next to Jack. “See? You’re getting it.” 

“All it took wos th’ right teacher.” 

“Don’t flatter me, Jackaboy, you’re not getting any treats.” Mark laughed. Jack felt his cheeks burning. Again. 

\--- 

“Let’s try it again.” 

Jack bit back a swear word as he scooped himself off the ground. “I can’t do it, Mark.” 

“Hey, where’s that go-getter attitude from before?” He gave the smaller man a grin. “Come on, ‘you’ll never beat the Irish’, remember?” 

“I never said that, yeh racist bastard.” 

“You might as well have! Come on, you’re the most persistent little shit I know. Try it again.” 

Jack couldn’t argue with that. Or with Mark. He heaved a sigh and shot the taller man a glare before opening his wings once more. 

“Remember, control is the key. Flap too hard, you’ll smash into the ceiling. Flap too softly, you’ll… well.” 

The Irishman frowned, remembering his last attempt. He’d gotten about five inches into the air before turning upside down and landing flat on his face. It had taken an entire minute for Mark to stop crying from laughter. 

“Alright, alright, I get it.” 

“Do you?” 

“No.” 

They both chuckled a bit at that. 

“Okay…” Jack sucked in a breath. “Here I go.” He raised his wings. 

_Control is the key._

He poured his energy into a single downstroke. He felt his feet leave the ground, and all of a sudden he was shooting into the air. He was light as a feather, fast as a bullet- 

“That’s it! Now glide! Level out!” 

It almost came instinctively now. The Irishman turned in the air until he was parallel to the ground far below. The lurch of vertigo was almost nonexistent now. If it was, it was nothing compared to the sheer joy he felt. He’d pulled it off. That was fucking BADASS. 

To show off, he turned, completing a full circle in the air. He continued to angle right, drifting in lazy circles as he slowly dipped back towards the ground. 

He’d never seen Mark with a bigger smile on his face. “I knew you could do it, Jackaboy.” 

“D’yeh… d’yeh think we could try flapping in midair next?” 

Another voice cut into their conversation. “That would be wonderful,” Hund called from the observation deck. “But unfortunately, your time is up. It’s time to go back to your cells.” 

They both looked at each other. Jack was surprised to feel an icy ball of disappointment settle in the pit of his stomach. 

“C-can’t we stay longer?” He knew he sounded like a whiny little kid. Jack didn’t care. 

“Due to incidents in the past, we have to limit your time in here,” Professor Hund snapped. The crackle of the P.A. system, if anything, made her voice even sharper. “We don’t want you losing energy and wasting more time overall.” 

There was a whoosh of air from behind them, and Jack’s hands were roughly snatched and dragged behind his back. He felt the familiar click of restraints as they cut into his wrists. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow, boys.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MORE CLIFFHANGERS HAHAHA
> 
> I love you guys you know that right this is why I must torture you so


	10. Us

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack thinks about the past and the future.

Jack was utterly bored. His fingers drummed against the metal floor. 

He was tired, but not enough to fall asleep. He glanced over at Mark in curiosity. Maybe he could strike up a conversation. 

The other man was totally out cold, curled up near the center of his cell. 

Jack sighed. Lucky bastard. 

He closed his eyes and listened to the faint noise echoing around him. It didn’t really help matters. There was a very faint, distant thudding noise. Probably some poor sap pounding on the walls, begging to be let out. 

The Irishman was getting antsy. He hated holding still. But the room wasn’t large enough for him to try flying, and there was literally nothing else to do. 

He’d yell, just to hear his own voice, but that might disturb Mark. 

He’d fly, but there was no room. 

He halfheartedly got to his feet and spun in little circles. Even dancing was no fun in a place like this. The only soundtrack was the quiet cacophony of broken hearts. 

He slowed to a halt, sighing forlornly. He really wanted to talk to Mark, to hear his voice. 

_That was really fucking gay,_ he realized. 

Speaking of which… He really needed to sort out his feelings for Mark. 

The Irishman crossed his arms, allowing his thoughts to wander. What on Earth had suddenly convinced him that he was attracted to his best friend? He was sure he only liked girls. 

Was it really moral to be thinking about this when the guy he was thinking of was literally in the next room over? Jack snuck another glance. The American continued to snooze undisturbed. 

Well… Mark was asleep, and Jack was alone with his thoughts. Now was the perfect time to think about this. 

The guy was kind. He was selfless. He had a heart of gold. He'd always put himself aside to help those in need. Jack remembered the time he came home soaking wet because he'd taken the time to walk some kid home in the rain instead of taking the bus. Mark had gotten violently ill the next day, and Jack had chastised him for the whole day, making him soup and ensuring he was warm. 

He was fun to be around. Mark always made life exciting and competitive. Everything was a game to him, and Jack was his player two. He always made sure both of them were participating and happy with the circumstances. They would spend hours on the couch together playing Rocket League, only stopping once one of them dozed off and fell against the other. 

He had an attitude to rival Jack's own. The two would trade insults with smiles on their faces, each claiming to be better than the other. It was a game to the two men, and both enjoyed teasing and jabbing at the other without causing any real damage. 

A small smile split the Irishman’s face. Really, what wasn't there to love about a man like Mark Fischbach? Maybe he was in love all along. Maybe he was just… In denial about it. 

_Life is funny that way,_ he decided. 

“Well… As long as I keep moving forward,” he said aloud to himself, “Maybe there'll be a happily ever after, after all.” 

He wasn't sure what saying that out loud would do, but… He supposed speaking the words helped further them along in their coming true. It gave them hope. 

And hope was exactly what Jack needed. 

\--- 

Even thinking about Mark got boring eventually. He was TIRED. 

Jack attempted to sleep once again. The floor was just too hard and cold, even with his wings. He tossed and turned. His nerves were fraying. He was going to go insane. He needed to scream, to shout, to do SOMETHING. 

Then he glanced over at the glass. 

Well… he could draw. 

Jack scooted over to the clear wall and pressed his face up close. He exhaled slowly, grinning as the glass fogged up. With his index finger, he began to doodle. 

He wasn’t the best artist. It was mostly stick figures. But it was something to occupy his time, so he was happy to do it. 

Jack smiled to himself as he doodled. The condensation on the glass faded very slowly, so his little scribbles were going to last a while. He hummed a little tune as he worked. 

He caught sight of Mark as he exhaled again, looking to expand his canvas. Heh, maybe he could draw little horns and a goatee on him. Like in a high school yearbook. Just another little victory over the American, albeit one that he'd never know about. 

But Jack surprised himself. Instead, he traced a heart around Mark’s silhouette, framing his figure in the glass. 

It wasn’t what he was planning, but… that worked. 

He stared for a moment at his handiwork. Below the heart were two stick figures with rather crude-looking wings, holding stick hands. 

Jack wished he had his phone. He would have liked a picture. Then again, Mark might have seen it. 

Then there was a loud CRASH. 

The Irishman looked up, startled. Shouts began to fill the air. An alarm blared. 

“Wot th’ fock…?” 

There was another CRASH. The noises grew louder. Mark twitched and stirred. 

“Mark! Somethin's happenin’!” Jack shouted. The man with blue hair blinked dazedly, trying to fix his crooked glasses. 

A third CRASH. _Is it just me, or are they getting closer?_

Mark was staring at the glass between them. It had just occurred to Jack that he hadn't wiped away his drawings when the sound of shattering glass practically split his eardrums. 

Something large and lumbering was in Mark's cell. Sharp fangs were bared, and huge claws were extended. Jack could only watch in horror as Mark frantically scooted away, cussing and yelling. 

“Would you shut the fuck up! This is a rescue mission! Get up, you idiot!” 

Jack blinked. Something about the voice was familiar. He took a closer look. 

“Arin?” he said incredulously. Then a grin spread across his face. “Or… Should I say-” 

“Don't you fucking dare,” Arin snarled. 

“ _Bear_ in?” 

“Fuck you.” 

Jack laughed in delight. The taller man rolled his eyes and helped Mark to his feet with one furry paw. “Stand back.” 

“Wot’re yeh even doin’ here?” He backed up, wincing as the man smashed through the glass like it was styrofoam. Shards littered the metal floor. 

Mark and Jack both stared as he gave them a sharp-toothed smile. 

“I’m busting everyone the fuck out.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IT'S ABOUT TIME THIS FIC ENDED JESUS THAT'S THE MOST I'VE WRITTEN FOR A FIC
> 
> The next one's gonna have at least 420% more flying and fighting like the fic name actually promises, and about 9001% more gay, so hold onto your butts because THE FINAL CHAPTER BEGINS TO UNFOLD THIS MONDAY
> 
> Fun Fact: The titles of all the chapters share names with songs by Regina Spektor. She is an incredible musical artist. Please listen to her as well. Or don't. It's up to you.


End file.
